Stutter Now
by hyacinthgirl18
Summary: Stuttering band-geek Edward Masen has always liked Bella Swan--this year, it will take a final showing of musical talent, the help of a few popular kids, and a bit of courage on Edward's part for him to finally get the girl. M for language


**Geekward Shuffle Contest**

Penname: _hyacinthgirl18_

FF author URL: .net/u/1402810

Song: _I Will Possess Your Heart_ by Death Cab For Cutie

Story: _Stutter Now_

Rating: M (for language)

Disclaimer: _Song belongs to Death Cab for Cutie, story belongs to me, all recognizable characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer and are abused by authors like myself regularly. __ Other songs are given credit to their owners throughout._

Summary: Stuttering band-geek Edward Masen has long had a crush on Bella Swan; it takes a final show of musical talent, a group of popular kids to help him, and a bit of courage on his part for Edward to finally get what he wants.

_Stutter Now_

I duck my head further over my guitar, fingers slowly picking at the strings as she passes through the hall in front of me. My hair falls into my face, and I scowl as I lift a hand to brush it back, fixing my glasses back in position as I do so—they've been sliding down my nose for the past fifteen minutes. Nervous sweat, you have to understand.

As Bella Swan turns the corner at the end of the hall, disappearing from the edges of my consciousness, I finally look up. Jasper nods at me from across the hall, and I frown. She hadn't even slowed down to listen to me playing.

Jazz crosses the hall and claps me on my shoulder—I stumble forward from the force, and glare at him as I rub it balefully. "Well done, Edward. She's after you for sure."

"You're cr-crazy," I say, shaking my head. "Why d-do you think she's in-interested in me?"

"Dude, she's a sensitive book-loving chick. That means she's into all that sappy 'I'm a sentimental and sensitive musician' thing. It's basic logic. Your glasses and morbid lack of cool style also make her heartstrings twang like a reed over a pond," he assures me.

My brow furrows at his odd metaphor, but I let it go. "You're gue-guessing, though, aren't you?" I accuse him. "Y-you d-don't know for sure."

Jasper lifts an eyebrow and backs away a few steps. "You'll see, Edward. By the end of the week, she'll have actually talked to you. And I expect payment the moment she does." With this, he turns around and heads in the direction of his next class.

Two weeks ago, Jasper Whitlock had approached me in calculus, asked me if I liked Bella Swan, and promised to help me find a spot on her radar. It had been a surprise, but he wouldn't bug off until I finally accepted his help. Now, we were a team, though a quiet one. As a popular kid, Jasper had a lot of friends to keep company, and though I now knew he honestly liked me, it still struck me as odd.

However, if it would help me with Bella, I was open to any help I could get from anyone willing.

I sigh and follow his example, grabbing my bag off the floor and pushing my glasses up my nose again. As it happens, I have my favorite class next—music ensemble, home of the musical nerds and socially inept like myself.

Angela Weber is already sitting in her spot, gold saxophone shining in the fluorescent lighting from above. She and I are both anal about the cleanliness of our instruments. She smiles at me as I walk in. "Hey Edward, did you get my email last night?"

"Y-yeah," I answer, grinning back at her as I set the guitar down and head into the locker room for my own sax. It is my theory on life that those of us who play a sax in high school will never have sex in high school. The one-letter difference is actually so much more than just a vowel.

Ange disagrees. She just can't stand the thought of not sexing Ben up before graduation.

"Do you think you can work on the alternate arrangement on the piano part for next week?" she proposes as I make my way up the risers to join her. "You're okay with taking both vocals and keyboards for this one?"

I nod.

"Good. Because I've been practicing my bass playing, and I think I can get this one done. I've already learned about half of it. Alec volunteered for drums, and Jane is in on guitar. She's been improving—she thinks that her nervous tic is actually gone now. Well, when she's playing anyways. You're alike in that way," she rambles on about our arrangement for next week's concert. "We haven't all taken the time to practice together, so maybe we can start that today."

I've got two numbers other than the one she's asked me to join in on. I'll need to brush up on my bass playing for one song, and then I get to parade around my love of the saxophone and jazz in another with Angela.

"Sounds gr-great. I-I'm sure we'll b-be the shining m-m-moment of the night," I tell her.

Honestly, I _am _excited for next week. Despite the fact that I can barely talk without stuttering, over the past three years of music ensemble, it's been discovered that I'm actually great when it comes to vocals—I tend to forget where I am and that people are watching me. I'm more absorbed by the electricity that makes my hair stand on end when my adrenaline starts pulsing during a performance, whether I'm singing or playing an instrument.

Our teacher calls us to order then, and we start our warm-ups for the day before heading into the one big-band piece we'll be performing before our choir duties. My cheeks and shoulder haven't hurt from playing sax since fifth grade, when I first started.

At the concert, after big-band and choir, we'll be breaking off for the quiet acoustic songs. Stage band is last—that's usually when we start showing the most energy, because it's loudest and the most fun and everyone in the crowd enjoys it because they know the songs since they've been on the radio.

When she's finally satisfied with our big piece, she leaves the room for a moment before reappearing with a box. I groan. I know what's hidden by that cardboard.

"Uniforms!" she announces, clapping her hands together. "Black slacks, white button up long sleeves, then— _the vests_." With this, she indicates the box in front of her. "Yes, Ms. Weber?"

"Are they still the same as last year's? Like, yellow with the green detail?" Angela asks, nose wrinkled disdainfully. I cough to cover up the dry laughter that wants to erupt from my throat.

"Sadly, yes. And this year? We even have green bowties." The entire class groans at this one, and it takes her a full minute to shut us up. "Hey, people will be focusing on your pretty music, not your outfits," she scolds us. "And I tried talking to the principal about getting new ones, but he just said we couldn't afford much and told me to get you all cummerbunds or bowties. I chose the less hideous of the two. And if you don't remember from last year, I have to wear these monstrosities too."

Still, the mustard yellow and olive green don't exactly compliment my skin tone.

We all fall to chattering as she begins handing out the vests. I pout at her when she hands me mine, and she laughs. "Mr. Masen, your face better not get stuck that way."

I shake my head, smirking a little. "N-no, Ms. Sullivan."

She swats me over the head with someone else's vest and moves on, finishing up the saxophones and moving on to the trumpets in the row behind us. "Don't sass me."

Angela turns to me again and jerks her head toward a soundproof room. "Want to practice? I can get Jane and Alec and we can see how we're coming together."

"Sure," I say, and we clean and put away our saxes. I walk down the risers and pick up the light keyboard and stand in the back. Angela darts into the locker room to grab her dark purple bass, and Alec and Jane jump down to grab their things as well. I set up the keyboard quickly and then grab my sheet music for the song as well before I sit down on the blue plastic chair behind my instrument.

"Long version first, to see how we sound without vocals?" I ask. As always, my voice is a bit huskier and calmer now that I'm in my zone. "I start, then Angela. Jane, you're next. And Alec, you're in last. Remember, the intro is a good four and a half minutes, so we can cut it once we know we've all got it. Angela, Jane, if you can, we can even add in the backup singing."

They nod and look at me expectantly. I count us in, and start, listening attentively. Angela's base is perfect, as expected, but I'm surprised by Jane—she's hitting her notes and positively glowing as the electric guitar in her hands takes on a mellow life of its own. Alec's repetitive beat is easy for me to follow with my foot, keeping me well on time.

We're all trying not to look at our sheet music as we practice. I let my mind drift to my reason for picking this song—long brown hair, deep dark eyes, pale delicate hands, and a plump bottom lip.

When I break in with the lyrics, Angela smiles widely at me, nodding as my voice resonates in the room, smooth and stutter-less and slightly sweet and plaintive. I make sure to watch everyone and listen closely as we near the louder parts, pleasantly surprised to find that we are all in tune and in time. I smile widely at my fellow bandmates, and Jane grins back at me with sparkling braces.

As Angela and Jane finally fade out, I can't help but cheer in delight. Alec joins in with a rather exuberant display on the drums as my fingers race up and down the keyboard. Angela laughs and high fives Jane.

"B-brilliant, guys," I beam at them.

The bell rings then, and we all jolt out of the happy stupor our playing has inspired in us. Angela waves good bye and rushes out the door to get to her Biology class; I slow down and pack up, reluctant to get to gym.

However slow I go, though, they're still there when I finally walk in. Mike Newton and Tyler Crowley, idiots galore. But some might say their muscles more than make up for their stupidity—those someones with breasts, that is.

"Hey, Stammer, finish your assignment for Berty yet?" Mike asks me as I walk in unwillingly.

"No," I say curtly, pleased that I haven't stuttered this time. I spin the dials on my lock, trying to ignore the way my blood is singing in my veins, anticipating Mike's next action—the hand clamped on the back of my neck.

"Well, I guess you grade will have to suffer, because you'll be writing mine first—unless you want your glasses broken," he breathes close to me.

Does this guy ever brush his teeth?

I'm thinking about what to say to him this time—give in and just do the essay, or tell him to fuck off like I've always wanted to—when the decision is taken out of my hands.

"Newton, back off and leave the kid alone."

I smile weakly at Emmett McCarty as he scowls at Mike from across the row. "Th-thanks," I mutter.

"Next time, stand up for yourself, dude. He's all talk and not much action—anywhere," he says darkly. But he grins briefly at me to know it's okay to laugh at his joke. "Don't believe all the shit he says about girls, especially."

Newton turns pink and stalks out of the locker room with Tyler in tow.

"So, it's Edwin, right? Or Eddie?" Emmett pulls off his shirt and replaces it with his PE uniform. Not that I'm checking him out or anything, but the dude is buff. I'm a beanstalk. I should ask for advice.

"Edward, actually," I tell him. We've only been in the same school for the last three years. Though, to be fair, we didn't have all that many classes together—where I took music ensemble, he took mechanics, after all.

"Right. Well, Edward, I'm getting sick of watching Newton push you around. So you either stand up for yourself for the rest of the year, or you're stuck with me, because this has pricked my conscience way too often," he announces, smiling hugely at me.

I'm not sure what to say, so I nod at him and hope he drops it. He's popular—nice, but he'll forget about me in two days. Or hours.

I'm surprised when he slings a massive arm over my shoulders and proceeds to walk with me to the door to the gym. "Now, I have a close inside source that tells me you have the hots for little Isabella Swan."

Shit.

"Wh-what?" I stutter. "Wh-where did you h-hear that?"

"A little birdie with a whacked out hairdo. But he doesn't matter—it's true, then?" Emmett presses, looking at me carefully.

I don't deign to answer him. Instead, I push up my glasses and shake his arm off my shoulders as we near the pack of students dressed out in gym uniforms that smell like they haven't been washed in a week.

"Alright, I guess it is. Need help getting her?" he offers unexpectedly.

"Thanks, but n-no."

I manage to slide into my spot for stretching, and he shrugs and sits down on the other side of Paul Maxon, the lone kid to separate us.

"You sure, Edward?" he asks me as we stretch our legs and the coach is occupied yelling at some girl whose shorts are too small.

"Yeah," I growl, relishing the burn in my hamstrings. "I've got it under c-control."

"So how long has this stutter thing been going on?"

Paul looks between us with an odd look on his face—_you and me both, buddy,_ I think.

"Forever," I grunt, leaning over my other leg.

"Huh." Emmett is quiet for a merciful moment, and then smiling again. "Can it be, like, cured?"

"It's a-a psychological thing," I say. "So wh-whenever I g-get over it."

"Does being annoyed help?"

"Sometimes," I answer.

"What else?"

Jeez, this guy never shuts up, does he?

"Music."

Emmett thinks for a moment before lighting up once more. "That's right, you're a total band geek, aren't you?"

I sigh.

I'm not sure what got into Emmett, but he sticks to my side like glue for the rest of the period. And after school, he offers to walk into the band room with me to get my instruments for tonight.

It's not like I can tell him no. He helped me out earlier.

I'm deciding whether I want my bass guitar or my saxophone for tonight, but Emmett immediately swoops in on the orange tiger-striped electric bass, awe plain on his face.

"Dude, you play this fucking thing?"

"Yeah," I answer, slinging my saxophone case over my shoulder.

"It's awesome!"

I smirk at him, pleased and flattered already. "Thanks. I've been playing for a few years."

He looks up at me, and I'm suddenly uneasy with the calculating look on his face. "There wasn't a stutter in that sentence."

I shrug awkwardly, back to being me.

"Can you play something?" he demands, and I'm reminded of a huge four year old as he waves the guitar in my face.

Rolling my eyes, I think for barely half a second before starting on the bassline from the song we were practicing earlier—Angela's part for now.

Emmett is staring at the floor, frowning as he tries to place it. When I sing the first line, he gets it and lights up. "I know this song!"

I lift an eyebrow at him, and he waves me on, listening attentively until I'm done.

"Wow, pretty cool, Edward. I don't see why the chicks don't dig you. If I were a girl, I'd be all up on you."

That's… discomforting. "Er… th-thanks?" I ask more than say.

"So, listening to those lyrics," he's saying as I zip the guitar back in its case, "I can't help but think it's a message to Bella."

My spine crackles as I whip upright and stare at him. "I-it's that ob-obvious?" I stammer helplessly, panicking. "Sh-shit!"

Emmett annoys me by laughing. "Whoa there, buddy, don't lose your shit over her. She's just a girl." He picks up my bass for me and starts leading the way out of the room—I guess I'm taking both instruments home today.

Jasper is leaning against my car door when we reach the parking lot. "Hey, Emmett." Of course, take care of the popular kid first… even if you are his best friend. "Hey, Edward. I've got news for you. _Good _news."

I look at him suspiciously as I pop the trunk of the black Volvo. "What n-news?" I ask as I sling my sax and bookbag into the back. Emmett hands me the bass to put in after.

"Bella Swan blushed when someone brought up your name today," Jasper whisper-yells. "You're in, dude!"

"J-just because she's b-blushing doesn't mean anything. She blushes a-all the t-time," I point out, slamming the trunk shut and whirling my keys around my index finger as I lean against the bumper next to him.

Emmett grins. "Been watching her much, Edward?"

I choose to ignore that.

"She doesn't blush when Mike Newton's name comes up," Jasper reminds me, pointing a long finger at my nose.

I stare at it for a second before looking up at him again.

"_And _she's coming to the music thingy next weekend or whatever," he adds, rolling his eyes, as if this isn't the important part.

"_What_?" I squawk, standing bolt upright. My keys fall from numb fingers to land on the pavement. "You're f-fucking kidding!"

"Nope," he says, shaking his head and grinning mischievously.

"B-but she's never c-come to one before!" I argue desperately.

"Exactly, Edward. She never noticed you before. Our plan has been working—I told you I could do it," Jasper brags, and Emmett laughs as he bends to pick up my keys.

"That's only because Jazz here is like a girl when it comes to emotions—no offense to girls. I'm actually sorry to abject them to letting Jasper into any category concerning them," Emmett jokes.

I shake my head in awe. "Well, I guess I owe you n-now," I say, shocked.

"Nah, not yet," Jasper argues, waving it away. "Doesn't count until first kiss."

"Y-you actually expect me to g-get that far with her?" I question, doubtful.

"Sure. You and Bella would totally work." Emmett shrugs. "Whenever my girlfriend plays those 'match the cute could-be couples' games at sleepovers, I guess a lot of girls have been thinking you two would end up together for a while."

I bark a laugh. "Yeah, right. See you guys tomorrow," I say. I hate getting my hopes up—I'm annoyed by how easily this occurs.

They wave at me cheerfully as I start the Volvo, and then they're just specks in my rearview mirror, grinning and turning away.

Bella sits next to me in English for the first time all year. I spazz out internally.

Emmett McCarty—I'd never known he was in this class—winks at me from four desks up. He's in her usual spot.

Oh, God, he's playing matchmaker with Jasper.

And of course, Mr. Berty decides today is the day to make us work in partners. I turn to Bella, and see that she is staring at her paper quiet intensely. I bite my lip, unsure of how to proceed, and reach a hand out to touch her shoulder and get her attention just as she suddenly stands up. When she hits my still outstretched arm, she loses her balance, stumbles into my desk, and lands sprawled across my lap.

I panic, because my jeans can't reign back the excitement that sparks as soon as I feel her warm softness pressed over my thighs and stomach and everything in between. So I jerk back and fall out of my seat.

Smooth.

That's right, I'm just Doctor Smooth.

Fuck.

Bella falls onto the floor, and I immediately stand up to help her. She's red-faced as she hesitantly sets her delicate fingers in my palm, and I push my glasses up nervously with my free hand.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "I just… I'm sorry."

"No problem," I say softly, watching as she stands up and looks morbidly embarrassed. "It was p-partly my problem. I mean, m-my f-fault."

Bella shakes her head, and shrugs before walking up to the front of the room, where Alice Brandon is staring blatantly at me.

Why the fuck do I keep attracting the attention of the popular kids lately?

Emmett plops down in Bella's abandoned seat and whistles appreciatively, a devilish smile lighting up his face. His dimples are so deep I bet he could hide an entire pencil in one.

"Nice move, Edward. Next time, though, you should just grope her and then run away afterwards," he advises.

I glare at him as I take my seat again. "Shut up," I mutter, sneaking a glance over at her again.

Her cheeks are an even brighter red as Alice talks animatedly, giggling, and Bella shakes her head so hard that her hair swings out in an arc behind her.

"Alice is in," Emmett whispers.

"What?" I ask, looking at him in confusion.

"Jazz might have mentioned it last night, and she's a definite Bella-Edward shipper," he says, grinning. "We have a fighting chance!"

I stare at him for a moment. I don't know whether to be excited, annoyed, or just go with it—I settle with confused.

"Why are you all trying t-to help m-me?" I ask him. Of any of them, Emmett seems the most straightforward.

"We like you. You might be a bit geeky, but hey, we're all kind of dorks. Jasper can rock a bass too, you know. And me? I've got the most extensive iTunes library in the school—16,314 songs," he tells me, shrugging. "Plus, Bella in need of someone who understands her, and you do have that sensitive tortured artist thing going on under the glasses and polyester collar. By the way, Alice says she's taking you shopping this weekend—prepare to fork over some cash and lose your dignity," he snorts, shooting the tiny girl a glare.

She's looking over at us, I realize, and I stupidly respond when she waves enthusiastically at me, her whole body quivering.

"I-is she always l-like that?" I ask somewhat fearfully.

Emmett nods seriously. "She's my worst fear after she's had a cappuccino blast," he admits.

I laugh, and finally we get started on our work for the day, focusing on Dostoevsky's characters instead of my pathetic love life.

Still, when I look over at Bella at the end of the period, I see a blush on her cheek and have the feeling she might have been looking in our direction three seconds ago.

At lunch, I sit on a desk in an empty classroom and quietly practice the bass for my second set—a Kings of Leon song that Ben had been anxious to attempt for the past few months.

_Given the chance, I'm gonna be somebody  
If for one dance, I'm gonna be somebody  
Open the door, it's gonna make you love me  
Facing the floor, I'm gonna be somebody_

When I look up, pushing my glasses up my nose again, I meet the unreadable dark eyes of none other than one Isabella Swan.

Her eyes widen and a blush swarms the apples of her cheeks like a pack of red butterflies. "I didn't mean to interrupt, or impose," she says so quickly I can barely understand her. Her fingers are almost white around the edges of the books she's clutching so tightly to her chest.

I'm quiet for a minute, and she turns to go, hair swinging, head down. "It's okay," I say, finally finding my voice. It's still slightly husky from singing.

She pauses in the doorway, and stands motionlessly for a moment before turning to half face me, one hand latched on the door frame. "Are you playing that next week at the music ensemble concert?"

I nod, wondering if I should break the staring contest that seems to be strung out between us.

She bites her lip and takes one step closer to me. My stomach summersaults.

"Are you playing anything else?"

"A few other numbers," I answer, clearing my throat. My voice sounds strange to me.

"Anything I might know?" She finally smiles at me and her shoulders relax.

Is she flirting with me? Holy shit, Jasper, what did you _do_?

"Maybe." I shrug, one side of my mouth pulled up in my usual smirk. "Depends on what kind of music you listen to."

Bella smiles at me and adjusts her books in her arms. "I guess I'll just have to come to the concert and see for myself," she says, and then she turns to go. "See you, Edward."

She's out the door before I can breathe again. Since when did Bella know my name? Or talk to me?

I _really_ owe Jasper and Emmett and Alice for this.

Angela isn't in her normal spot when I walk into ensemble, but I about scream when she latches onto my bicep, digging her fingers into my arm. "O-ow!" I yell, pulling away and staring at her with wide eyes. "What the h-hell, Ange?"

"Did you or did you not perform a song for one Miss Bella Swan at lunch?" she hisses, leaning toward me.

My eyes widen further. "H-how…?"

"Not important. I gather that you were also flirting?" she presses.

"Um… I-I…" I flounder like a fish, at a loss for words.

She rolls her eyes and holds a few papers out to me—my sheet music. "Oh, you're useless. Here's the new piano arrangement—it's not too different, just a few notes and different rests based on our playing yesterday. Jane's weak on the thirtieth measure, just a little, and I want you to ignore this rest I've scribbled out, okay? Just play these chords to back her up right there, and in a few other places throughout the song." Her finger glides along the staff and the song, pausing in some places circled or written over in blue pen.

I nod. "W-what's M-Ms. Sullivan got planned for u-us today?"

"A capella choir practice for the first half, free time for the last," she says. "I've got practice room number 3 reserved for us—everything's set up inside already."

I smile at her and hug her impulsively. "Angela, you will make the b-best producer one day. Y-you are the new Chris Walla."

She laughs and pushes away from me. "Don't hug me when Ben's looking!" she squawks, glancing over at the object of her blatant affection.

"But it'll make h-him jealous," I tease, and she rolls her eyes, heading for the alto section of our choir. I step up on the risers and take my spot in between the tenors and basses. Ben and Alec nod and smile at me, and I think about how Emmett might have greeted me—loudly and obnoxiously, I presume.

Ms. Sullivan smiles and claps her hands, looking around at us. "So pretty. Now. Bass, you're in first. Tenors, you second. Altos. Second Sopranos. First Sopranos."

She indicates when to bring us in after giving us the starting note, and cuts us off halfway through the first song.

"No, tenors, too loud. Edward, switch to bass, please."

I stare at her. "B-but I've only got one week to learn a new part," I complain.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Like you don't have it memorized already," she accuses, and I let my smile fill my face.

Ms. Sullivan passes my sheet music back to me so I can follow along just in case I need it, and we continue on. For the next song, I'm back to tenor, and the one after that, I'm on call and answer duet with Rosalie Hale—she isn't a music geek, per se. More of a cheerleader with an amazing voice and an occasionally bitchy attitude. She's also Emmett's girlfriend of the past four months.

Rosalie is regarding me curiously as we sing, a new light in her violet eyes, and I think I know why—the others must now be including her in their plot.

Once Ms. Sullivan has finally released us for our performance practice, Angela pulls me into room 3 with the rest of us. As I key into the first few notes, Rosalie slips in the door and sits on a spare chair, watching us.

Jane falters at the unexpected company, and I smile at her reassuringly. Ange frowns at the blond beauty sitting in our midst, but doesn't stop playing; Alec remains impassive, ignoring her.

I meet her eyes and see her watching my hands intently. When I come in for vocals, she moves her gaze back to my face. I lift an eyebrow as I draw in a breath, and then decide to ignore her obvious pissing contest, infusing my voice with the passion that normally layers it when I think of Bella.

Rosalie nods at me when I finish the song, and I smile tentatively back. She stands, and my bandmates look at her warily.

"Well, since you watched, what did you think of it?" Angela asks finally, rolling her shoulders.

"Good choice," she says simply, and then walks out. "It'll bring her to her knees."

My friends look at me for an explanation, and I shrug. Like I know anything of Rosalie Hale and the way she works.

The weekend passes in a blur of practice with three different groups of musicians. I see Angela on both Saturday and Sunday, once for practice on _Ain't That A Kick In The Head_ and the other for our closing song. Ben is pleased with my bass playing for _Be Somebody_ and needs me to sing it too—I remember Bella watching me during this practice and have a hard time concentrating on the present.

The one thing to stand out was that Alice Brandon climbed through my window on Saturday night, scaring the shit out of me. She didn't let me get anything more than a sputter out of my mouth, smirking and shushing me before dropping four bags of new clothes on my floor. "Use them wisely," she whispered, and then ducked out my window again, gone in a flash of blank ninja clothes and face paint.

Bella is in her usual seat when I walk into English—Alice looks at me critically and sighs, shrugging. "I tried," I hear her mutter as I pass her seat. I laugh a little, and Bella looks up at me, biting her lip and smiling just a little.

The week passes too quickly for me—my new friends are supportive and much too mischievous for their own good, and my bandmates are ready for the show. Before I know it, it's Saturday night again, and I'm standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom, fidgeting with the horrifyingly ugly vest of my uniform.

When I get to the auditorium, my bandmates are running around anxiously setting up, plugging instruments into amps and untangling cords and making sure the risers are level. I make three trips back and forth from my car, carrying my amp for the bass, the guitar itself, and my saxophone.

Ms. Sullivan does a short run through of everything. We do our big-band piece, transfer to a capella choir pieces, and then break off for our other performances. Rosalie Hale's acoustic version of _A Better Place, a Better Time_ is nearly heartbreaking. Ben manages to stun us with an amazingly fast piano piece. We all clap and laugh at the irony when a group performs _Decode _from some movie soundtrack, and then we move onto stage band, plugging in amps and testing drum sets.

Alec, Rosalie, Jane, and Angela break in with _Henrietta_, followed by my first performance of the night, our jazzy number of the old Dean Martin song. Sara and Kyra sing _On Directing_, and then I'm up again for bass on the Kings of Leon song. Finally, we take the stage for the last song.

As a group, band geeks are very supportive of each other. We're blown away by the performances of our fellows, and it feels great to be so excited and cheerful before the big live show for a real audience. If we can pass muster for kids who are listening for every little mistake, everything should be great.

People start filing in the doors at five o'clock, an hour early. We mingle for a while—by mingle, I mean mostly stand off in clusters of our bandmates and comment on who's here.

My group is surprised when Rosalie Hale comes over to us with Emmett behind her, and Alice and Jasper are crossing the room, a heat-seeking missile set exactly for my body temperature.

"Alright, Edward—time to stun her into loving you," Emmett says loudly. Rosalie rolls her eyes and slaps his chest.

Jasper holds out his hand for me, and we grab each other's wrists, shaking once. "It's a good thing she's so into you—I'm certain a small portion of her love will die when she sees that vest."

Alice laughs as I scowl, Rosalie next to me, pointedly sticking out her vest-covered chest. "It's ugly, but it's a kind of cool fashion statement. Do you think they might let me make your uniforms for your next performance, though?" she trills.

We laugh and shrug, and suddenly Bella is among us. "What are you all laughing at?" she asks her friends, eyes darting to me.

Maybe she just wants to know why I'm suddenly a cool kid, despite my geeky outer appearance. And the stupid stutter.

"Nothing," we all chorus.

Suspicious, she turns to get a seat.

Rosalie and I get in our spots as the show starts, and soon we're performing.

At some point, someone backstage gets the brilliant idea to open the door in the dressing area, letting blessedly cold air circulate around the stage area. Under the lights, playing our instruments with so much energy, many of us are literally soaked with sweat. I push my hair out of my face repeatedly, and my glasses are perpetually at the bottom of my nose, useless. Finally, I just take them off and quickly slip in the contacts I usually kept in the front pocket of my backpack.

By the time it's the last set for the night, I'm starting to feel slightly nervous—the first time all night. Bella will finally be hearing my message to her—I only hope she understands that's what it is.

Stage band goes too quickly for me, but I'm pleased when I spot Bella smiling and tapping her foot along with our Kings of Leon song. I wonder if she actually listens to Death Cab for Cutie. She seems the type, but maybe I've guessed wrong.

Angela nods and I take a deep breath, shaking out my arms before stepping onto the stage for the last time tonight.

I look at the microphone in front of me and stretch my fingers. When I look at my bandmates, they nod—we're ready.

"Last song of the night, everyone. I'm Edward Masen on keyboards and vocals, Angela Weber on bass, Alec Farsen on drums, and Jane Cummings on guitar. This song was written by a local band, actually—_I Will Possess Your Heart _by Death Cab for Cutie."

I pull away from the microphone, pause, and then lean back in. "And I'd personally like to dedicate this song to"—God, I hope I don't throw up—"Bella Swan."

The wolf-whistles start up, and I can't look in her direction yet as the crowd laughs and claps. I can make out Emmett's distinctive voice yelling in support for me, and smile nervously, looking at my bandmates again.

Angela simply raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, but she's smiling at me.

I set my fingers on the keys, take a deep breath, and begin to play. We've decided to do the studio version, because the intro of the album version is actually over half of the length of the song.

_How I wish you could see the potential  
The potential of you and me  
It's like a book elegantly bound  
But in a language you can't read just yet_

I finally muster the courage to look at her as I hit the chorus—she's staring up at us, eyes trained on me. I almost stumble through the words, but I manage to keep myself under control as we head into the second verse.

_There are days when outside your window  
I see my reflection as I slowly pass  
And I long for this mirrored perspective  
When we'll be lovers, lovers at last_

Comfort and confidence settles over me as I lean into the microphone, fingers dancing on the keyboards. We sound great, truly, and a lot of people in the crowd are clapping quietly along with Alec's beat, a metronome that sounds so much more enthusiastic than the usual ticking device.

Bella's eyes don't leave mine for the entire song, and she's mouthing the words along with me.

_You got to spend some time, love  
You got to spend some time with me  
And I know that you'll find love  
I will possess your heart_

I will possess your heart  
I will possess your heart

My voice fades out and finally it's over. As a group, the entire class makes our bows and then we're free to head out into the crowd.

My mother hugs me briefly as soon as I hop off the stage; I gently pull away, smile, and head for the one person I really can't wait to see right now.

Bella is standing in front of her seat, wringing a piece of paper I recognize as the set list in front of her. She bites her lip, transfers her weight to one leg, and looks up at me from under dark feathery eyelashes.

"That's my favorite song," she admits quietly.

I step closer. "Mine too," I say.

We stand there for a second, and I'm unsure now. Up on stage, I know my place, I understand the music and the atmosphere and the expectations. But here, seven inches from this small powerless girl, I am lost.

Finally she smiles a little, and I rub the back of my neck, and she says, "You're not wearing your glasses."

And I go, "Yeah. I mean, no, I'm not."

And she says, "You're not stuttering either."

And I say, "I guess not."

And Emmett jumps in and says, "Just fucking kiss her already."

And I look at Bella, smile, and lean down to press my lips against hers, at last.

She smiles against me, and pulls back just slightly. "You know, I like this vest."

I laugh and move closer, setting my hands on her waist. "I like you."

Bella laughs, stands up on her tiptoes, and whispers, "Do I possess your heart?"

I smirk, pretend to think about it, and then nod before I kiss her again.


End file.
